


An Enchanting Education

by DictionaryWrites



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Canon Era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 22:15:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>ABANDONED.</p><p>So, oopsipontmercyed spoke of wanting a canon era, Harry Potter AU Les Misérables fanfic, and I am awful for taking on new, exciting projects. This is the first part, but any continuations will probably be in moments as opposed to a massive, structured plot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Enchanting Education

Enjolras stretched out, arms above his head before he relaxed again. Courfeyrac sprawled forwards, lying across Combeferre’s lap as he did so. The two had introduced themselves brightly to Enjolras, as Émile Combeferre and Alexander Courfeyrac, and he’d politely returned his own hand with a soft smile, and a quiet, “Benoît Enjolras”.

“Well, to be quite frank, I should have gone to Beauxbatons.” Enjolras said, his voice as quiet as any, subdued. This was the first time he had left his family for a prolonged time, and he was not completely certain in his words or his place. “My parents elected it best that I attend Hogwarts instead, given that I now retain citizenship here.”

“That is reasonable.” Combeferre said, giving a careful nod. “Courfeyrac and I, we were always destined for Hogwarts. We grew up together.”

“We are the best fellows.” Courfeyrac proclaimed brightly, and his grin was sweet in showing off clean, white teeth.

“You grew up together since birth?”

“That is so!” Courfeyrac nodded, and Combeferre smiled, leaning comfortably back in his chair before adjusting his spectacles, pushing up the bridge of his nose.

“I should learn a charm for this.” He muttered, sheepish, and Courfeyrac huffed.

“You should merely tighten them, and have them not slip in the first place.” He advised. Enjolras was quiet, standing and reaching for his trunk to remove a few books. He had no wish to disrupt these boys’ conversation, and he had never been fantastic amongst other children.

He had no siblings, and had grown up alone: he was conscious of the fact that most others his age held no fondness for his company, and he sympathized with these boys for their unluckiness.

“Oh, are we boring you?” Courfeyrac said, and his lips parted, his eyes widening. “Merlin, I’m sorry-”

“Oh, no, you’re not, I just thought I should- er- let you be?” Combeferre’s smile was gentle.

“Oh, come now, Enjolras. You are amongst friends here: we should talk.” The blond’s cheeks tinged a slight scarlet, and he set the book aside.

“Well, if it would please you-”

“Certainly it would. You seem interesting. What are you most excited to learn about?”

“Oh, Defence!” And with that, they were talking in the excitable fashion young boys often do, easing easily into it. They talked and talked until the light was fading outside the carriage of the steam-train, new and shining as it chugged along the way.

—-

“So, what are your parents like?” Feuilly looked up from the book in his hands, biting his lip as he regarded the other boy.

“Uh, I don’t have any.” He said in a quiet voice, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “I got my letter at the orphanage, and then they said I was a  _wizard_ , and-”

“You’re a Muggle-born?” Bahorel asked sharply, and Feuilly recoiled at his tone.

“Uh, maybe? Obviously I cannot know. I thank God to be given the chance to be here.” Bahorel’s lip twitched, and Grantaire glared at him.

“Muggles aren’t so bad. My mum’s a Muggle.” Grantaire said, and Bahorel shifted, looking uncomfortable.

“Muggles are dangerous where I’m from.” Grantaire bit his lip as Feuilly looked between both of the other boys.

“Oh.” Feuilly murmured. “I am no danger to you, sir.”

“No, sir, I’m sure you’re not.” Bahorel muttered, but he remained curled in his seat. “My apologies.”

—-

Marius had been utterly silent as he’d moved up onto the carriage, waving politely to Monsieur Gillenormand as he went. He lifted his trunk with skinny, lithe arms, and he pushed it up onto a shelf with more than a little effort, and then he settled into the small carriage.

“D’you mind if I sit here with you, sir?”

“Oh, you needn’t call me that!” Marius said firmly, his eyes wide as he regarded the young girl before him. Despite the fact that she seemed to be a First Year like him, she was skinny and thin, as if she was a few years his junior. “Please, my name is Marius Pontmercy! Call me that!”

“Éponine Thénardier.” She replied, and she dragged her own trunk in, throwing it up onto the carriage shelf before settling into a chair. Her robes seemed mildly ragged, but Marius was not going to make something of it – he didn’t want to be rude, after all.

The door opened, and two boys tumbled in, a fair-haired, skinny creature and another who was broad with a crop of dark hair. “I’m sorry, Joly!” The latter exclaimed, and the other boy chuckled as he pulled himself up off the ground.

“Don’t worry so! I’m quite alright!” Joly insisted, and he dusted off his robes before leaning to pull Bossuet up with him. “Our apologies, friends, my fellow here is a somewhat clumsy specimen!”

“I admit it freely.” The other said, his tone dry. “Alas, I have no grace at all, for my sisters took it all from the pot!” Marius laughed because Éponine and Joly did, the sound somewhat nervous, though he hoped these new people did not notice.

“I am Guillaume Joly!” The first proclaimed, and the second added in a languid tone, “And I am Gaston Lesgle, but please, do call me Bossuet.”

“Marius Pontmercy.”

“And I am Éponine Thénardier!”

Bossuet grinned brightly, lifting Joly’s trunk for him, not because the boy seemed weak, but because he simply had not the height to take it to the shelf. “So, are you two excited to be going?” Joly began in a bright, excitable tone. “I’ve been waiting for so  _long_  to get my Hogwarts letter – I could scarcely believe it when it arrived, although I’d long anticipated it!”

—-

Jean Prouvaire smiled at the girl who entered the carriage he had settled in, his expression peaceful. “Good morning.” He said serenely, speaking with a sort of easy grace that was rare in those his age, and the other child smiled at him.

“Hallo! I’m Musichetta.”

“Musichetta is a lovely name.” Jean said, and he offered a hand for her to shake, which she took. “Jean Prouvaire. I’m very excited to be here.”

“And I also!” She exclaimed, and she settled along side him, perching her little feet on her trunk rather than putting it up on the carriage shelf. “I’m especially excited to begin my Charmwork! My mother is a fantastic Charms Mistress – do you know, she can tailor a whole  _wardrobe_  using only Charms, given that she has the material!”

“Truly?”

“As truly as I sit before you!”

“Well!” Musichetta and Jean slipped into easy conversation, full of smiles and laughter. It was easy for them: both were tended well towards people, although Prouvaire exhibited shyness on certain subjects, and went silent for a good ten minutes after stuttering embarrassingly in a conversation, his cheeks a bright scarlet.

—-

“Is that Her?” Enjolras whispered as they moved off the train, the First years all huddled together. The Hogwarts Express was a relatively new addition to the Hogwarts schooling system: it held only First Years, serving to, as Professor Myriel up at the school had said, to create bonds between students without the tensions of the school Houses serving to alter them. He had worked hard to put his idea into practice, though for practicality’s sake, it was being spoken of to open the Hogwarts Express up to every student in the September run to Hogwarts.

The steam train was a magnificent thing to look upon, painted in a bright, heady red that drew the attention of every wizard it passed (it was hidden quite spectacularly from Muggles, in a way not one man could criticize).

“That’s Her!” A man stooped on one side confirmed in a loud tone, drawing the attention of all those gathered on the platform, first to himself, and then up to the school on the hill.

Hogwarts was  _magnificent_. She stood tall, a massive castle in her place, and her many spires and towers were the stuff of fairytale, and lights glowed in her windows, betraying that the school year had firmly begun. “I am Mister Fauchelevent, and you’ll refer to me as such.” The man said – the grounds keeper, her must have been, Enjolras thought – to draw their attention again. “Now, come, children, this way.” They walked up to the castle, each child dragging their trunk behind him.

Marius Pontmercy struggled with his own, and Alexander Courfeyrac was immediately upon him, assisting him with a bright smile as he hurriedly introduced himself, and the sweet, waifish creature was flustered by his attentions and his assistance, his cheeks turning rosy as he uttered ineloquent thanks.

Fauchelevent walked with a plain limp, but his gait was undeterred by it, so they arrived at the castle gates swiftly enough. “Come now, children, do be ready to be sorted!” He said as he pushed open the iron-wrought things, and the group of them ran swiftly through. There must have been thirty or forty of them, at Enjolras’ estimate, but it was difficult to count in the dark with everyone moving about so.

When they arrived in the entrance hall, Fauchelevent assisted them in stacking their trunks neatly to the side of the room, and then they went quiet in the face of a tall-standing man with a genial expression on his countenance. “Good evening, boys and girls.” He said in a quiet tone, and despite his lack of volume, all were inspired to listen, for there was not a crack in his voice, and he displayed an intense calmness. “My name is Professor Mabeuf – I will be your Transfigurations Master. I am also the head of Ravenclaw House, so those of you to be sorted there will no doubt be cursed with my physiognomy more than you would appreciate.”

The children tittered at the jest, and Mabeuf’s smile grew wider. “Now, as you enter the Great Hall, you will be quiet, and you will be respectful of your elders. Adjust your robes, if you will, and ensure you look properly put-together. You will be sorted by the sorting hat, which no doubt some of you have heard of, and then you shall join your new Houses at their tables. Your house crests, for your the breast of your robes, will be afforded you come the morning, and your respective House masters will no doubt assist you in Charming them onto your clothes.” He spoke reasonably, and while the students were quiet, they all exchanged excited looks.

To be a Hogwarts student. What an adventure.

When the doors opened, they filed into the room, and all of them were positively enchanted – appropriately – by the enchanted ceiling. Every one of them looked up, their smiles replaced by looks of awe, at the incredible depiction of the night sky, and at the numerous candles that hovered about the air.

“Children, do be quiet.” The Great Hall had a raised platform at its other end, where upon the staff table was laid out – a good dozen members sat along this table, and all the First Yeats looked in the way of the man who spoke; a gentle looking man who was the elder of all those sat about him, who wore a purple robe. Mabeuf moved up, joining the table again, between a dark-haired man who had grey streaks in well-kept locks, and another, balding man who was grinning widely and taking sips of a sherry glass. “My name is Charles Myriel: I am your Headmaster. We are, of course, delighted to have you children here. Professor Mabeuf will read from his list, and each of you shall sit upon this stool and put the sorting hat upon your head. The hat will call out your House for all to hear, and you will join your new Housemates. Remember,  _do_ , that you are free and indeed, encouraged, to befriend those outside your House.”

The balding man at the table rolled his eyes at these words, but no one paid him any heed. Enjolras looked around, taking in the four tables laid out with an impressive feast, and at his upper classmen, who seemed all rather tall and intimidating, even though Enjolras had never been one for fearing his elders. Enjolras let his eye wander further, and he took in the hourglasses on the back wall. There were four of them, each twice his height, perhaps, in the four House colours, and Enjolras regarded them. They were beautiful, and only their top halves had sand in them – but no, no, it wasn’t sand, now that Enjolras looked. They were gemstones. Rubies, sapphires, emeralds and pieces of beautifully golden citrine.

He looked, then, to the hat on its stool. It seemed mostly unimposing, and he regarded it quietly. He did not know what House he would be in, but then, did it truly matter? At Beauxbatons, they did not bother with such a ridiculous idea, of sorting by innate qualities – Housing was elected in a simple sort by surname.

Mabeuf stood, holding a scroll of parchment, and began to read off names. “Aguillon, Floréal.”

The girl moved forwards, and she dropped the hat upon her head, giggling when it flopped forwards and hid her face from her captivated audience. There was a long pause, and then, a rip on the hat opened, and a loud, male voice exclaimed, “ **Gryffindor!** ”

The Gryffindor table cheered uproariously as the other tables clapped, and the mood lifted right up, creating obvious excitement. The sorting had begun.

“Bahorel, Julien.” Mabeuf called, and the boy moved up. “ **Gryffindor!”** Enjolras listened with interest as Boissey, Irma was sorted into Slytherin, and then it was Combeferre. “ **Ravenclaw!** ” The hat announced, and Enjolras laughed and clapped as Combeferre ran over to his table to be greeted brightly by the upper years.

“de Courfeyrac, Alexander!”

“Oi, it’s just  _Courfeyrac_ , none of this  _de_  business!” Courfeyrac complained, loud enough that the entirety of the hall could hear, and Mabeuf hid his snort behind his hand as the Hall laughed.

“Just come and be sorted, child.” Myriel said, in good humours as always, and Courfeyrac moved up.

“ **Gryffindor!** ”

“How fitting.” Myriel commented in a light tone, and the Hall was filled with chortling again. When Enjolras’ name was called, he swallowed, conscious of his stride as he moved up to the hat, and he carefully perched the thing upon his head.

“ _Well, just look at you… What a fascinating head.”_  Enjolras nearly jolted at the sudden voice, but he managed to keep his place. “ _Very ambitious, very intelligent, very- well. You’re a specimen, aren’t you?_ ” Enjolras was going to reply, but he was firmly interrupted. “ **Slytherin!** _ **”**_ The hat yelled, and Enjolras moved rapidly to his table with flushed cheeks.

—-

Inspector René Javert shifted in his seat, leaning forwards as he watched the children be sorted into their respective Houses. Myriel had been very polite in his invitation that he attend, and René Javert had never been able to resist an authority’s want, even if Professor Myriel had been firm in that it was a _request_ , an invitation, not a command.

He was stationed in Hogsmeade, a small town of all wizarding population that was settled near Hogwarts, ( _ **Excerpt from Modern Magical History, published 1986**_ _: It should be noted that up until the very end of the 19_ _th_ _century, individual Aurors were often stationed in particular areas of notable wizarding heritage or with especially large wizarding populations. This was for a dozen reasons, including the enforcement of the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, which was only enforced in Britain from 1692 onwards, and moreover, the careful care of wizarding communities, which could quickly become endangered by magical beasts, illness, et cetera. In the case of bad crimes or particular violence, these Aurors could call upon others at the Ministry for assistance: for the most part, they were very closely linked to the community they served, and would work without the help of those on call except for in the most extreme of cases. In our times, lack of funds and those willing/competent enough to become Aurors make this idea a functional impossibility, and it is firmly considered a thing of the past.)_ but kept exceedingly close ties to the school.

He supposed he was lucky, truly: many Aurors ate alone if not with their families, and as a complete orphan, one devoted firmly to the law, René Javert did not have familial ties to concern himself with.

He watched the children in their sorting, as Laurent Feuilly and Grantaire Aimé were sorted, one after the other, into Hufflepuff, and remembered his own sorting. He remembered being nervous in front of the other children, incredibly so, as he’d been thought to be almost a Squib at the prison until his letter had arrived, and he had never  _met_  other children his age before, let alone stood up before them.

“ _An interesting head you have here. You’re ambitious, but you are loyal, hardworking-”_ And Javert’s heart had frozen in his chest, and he’d gripped so desperately at the edge of his seat as he thought hard, “ _Not Hufflepuff, Merlin, please,_ _ **no**_.” He wanted to succeed, he wanted to be impressive, he wanted to be able to  _do_  something with his life, in law – and what Hufflepuff had ever made it into the Auror training programme? “ _Well, you could be the first_.”

“ _ **No**_ _, please, please-_ ” He had been on the very edge of tears, lucky for the hat’s brim to be covering his reddening eyes, and the hat had given a sort of mental sigh. “ _Very well_.” It had said, and then it had shouted, “ **Slytherin!** ” to the hall, and Javert’s relief had been immense.

“Montparnasse, Miljan!” Mabeuf said, and the boy had a poised gait as he moved forwards, although he seemed lanky for his age. He seated himself on the stool, straight-backed, and placed the hat upon his head. There was a long silence, far longer than most of the other students had taken, and Valjean, next to Javert, leaned forwards, seeming concerned. He was a very paternal fellow, Javert had noted, even outside of his young ward Cosette, and his heart was bleeding, unsurprisingly, for this boy on the stool as he seemed to shake.

“ **Hufflepuff!** ” The hat finally proclaimed, and the boy  _threw_  the hat back into its place onto the stool, running over to the table and hiding his face firmly in his hands. It mattered not: Javert could tell from the way his shoulders shaking that he was crying, and although the other new Hufflepuff boys attempted to comfort him, he slapped their hands away.

Javert’s lips pursed, and he hummed as he watched the creature. He made a mental note of the name,  _Miljan Montparnasse_ , and looked back to the next boy to be sorted.

—-

Marius was  _quaking_  as he made his way forwards, hands shaking with his worry as he wrung them before him. Joly and Lesgle had been sorted into Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff respectively, and he wondered where he would end. Monsieur Gillenormand, his grandfather, had been a firm Slytherin, but had said nothing to Marius of what House  _he_  should be in.

He looked at the hat carefully as he moved forwards, and then he carefully settled in the chair, placing it gently upon his head. “ _Why, impertinent little creature, throwing me down like that.”_  He heard the hat mutter in obvious bad temper. “ _As if Hufflepuff is truly so awful. Now, let’s have a look at_ _ **you**_.” The hat wittered on for a time, and Marius bit his lip as he listened to it talk of his lack of social graces, his love of books and dislike of crowds. “ **Ravenclaw!** ” Marius was relieved when it was finally over, and he made a point of setting the sorting hat down kindly in hopes of cheering it up a little before he moved over to his new table.

“Prouvaire, Jehan!” Jean Prouvaire blinked at Professor Mabeuf, looking around. Why, his name was Jean, not Jehan. He opened his mouth to say so, but then remembered the laughter that had followed Courfeyrac’s denouncement of his  _de_ , and he looked around anxiously, a flush on his cheeks at the very thought. “Prouvaire, Jehan?” Mabeuf repeated, and Prouvaire skittered forwards, rapidly seating himself and hiding his face beneath the hat.

“ _It won’t be so embarrassing if you_ _ **do**_ _tell him your name is misspelt, you know. These things do happen.”_

“ _Oh, I can’t! It will be dreadfully mortifying, especially now I’ve already answered!_ ” Prouvaire whispered desperately, his cheeks a bright scarlet as he grasped desperately at the edge of the stool.

“Oh, very well.” The hat said, and it went on to mutter something about stupid, stubborn children before focusing on Prouvaire’s qualities. “ **Ravenclaw!** ” It decided, and Prouvaire swiftly moved over to his seat, soon regaining his usual serenity. If the Hogwarts quill had written it as Jehan, he supposed he could bear it – it was truly not very different to the way he bore his aunt’s insistence on calling him  _Jeannot,_  was it not?

And besides that, Jehan was a rather nice name, much nicer than Jean, really, and with a more poetic grace to its syllables… Why, yes. Yes, perhaps Jehan wasn’t so bad after all.

Éponine Thénardier followed into Slytherin, and the last name caused a lot of kerfuffle about the hall. “Valjean, Cosette!” Mabeuf called, and the blonde girl, sweet and pretty and dainty, took careful steps up to the stool.

“My God, she is beautiful.” Marius Pontmercy whispered, bewitched immediately, and Combeferre chuckled, gently elbowing him in a teasing fashion to draw a rosiness to his cheeks. “You don’t think so?”

“I really don’t care.” Combeferre admitted good-naturedly. The Hall was full of rapid conversation, they noticed, and many of the other students kept looking up to the staff table. Jean Valjean watched his ward intently, a very soft smile on his face as he watched her settle the hat atop her blonde locks.

“ **Gryffindor!** ” The hat bellowed, and the Gryffindor table erupted into chairs at having gained the last of the new recruits, and Myriel stood with an indulgent smile as Mister Fauchelevent ran up to take the hat and stool and remove both from the hall.

“Ah, what a marvellous sorting; surely, you new children will be a great new platform to our society. Now, if I might just introduce our staff for the new children, or indeed, merely to the forgetful ones,” There were a few chuckles at this: it was obvious that the students were just as fond of Charles Myriel as he was of them. “We have a new addition! Professor Cuthbert Binns-” He gestured to a young, bespectacled man with a studious countenance. “He will, from now on, be teaching History of Magic. And from there, we have Professor Mestienne, who is your Care of Magical Creatures teacher. Then Felix Tholomy **è** s,” The balding man stood and gave a charming little bow before he settled again. “Who will teach you Charms.”

"Professor Mabeuf will teach you Transfiguration, Professor Valjean will teach you Defence Against The Dark Arts, Professor Plutrarch here will teach you Potions, Professor Champmathieu Herbology, and Arithmancy and Astronomy will be taught respectively by Professor Babtistine Myriel, my darling sister, and Professor Magloire, respectively.”

Myriel opened his mouth, and then closed it again, looking thoughtful. “Oh, and it should be noted that preliminary flying lessons for you First Years will be conducted by Professor Valjean, with Inspector Javert here,” Javert shifted under the sudden attention of all those young eyes, but Valjean patted his knee in a comforting fashion. “Who will supervise and serve to assist in keeping you safe.”

“Now, let the feast begin.” Myriel said, and with a slight wave of his hands, food appeared in bountiful quantities on the tables before them, and the new students fell excitedly to eating. 


End file.
